The Little Shop across the Street
by lenfaz
Summary: I work at a flower shop and you're a tattoo artist from across the street and you always come in here to practice drawing flowers and you're really hot - written for a CSSV exchange on tumblr


He couldn't recall how long the shop across the street had been closed, but Killian could remember with clarity the day everything changed for him.

He was walking down the street early in the morning, ready to open his flower shop - _Jewel of the Rose_ \- when he spotted the blonde figure struggling with her keys trying to open the door of the shop.

He was about to cross the street to offer his help - mentally calculating how could he manage to do so with only one hand that was currently carrying his morning cup of coffee - when the blonde seemed to take matters into her own hands - or legs - and kicked the door open. Killian raised his eyebrows in admiration as he witnessed the angel of fury straighten her shirt before she picked up the cardboard box that was set on the sidewalk and entered the building. His eyes focused on capturing the very last moment of her presence on the street as he watched her slam shut what was left of the door.

One thing was clear. Whoever that woman was - and whatever business she was opening - it was going to make his life a lot more interesting.

It took a few more weeks until the shop opened. Each day Killian arrived to open his shop to find the blonde woman already across the street, busy carrying boxes, painting, or organizing. The sign was the last thing she put up and Killian quickly made his way towards the front windows of his shop to watch her hang it.

 _Swan Tattoos._

/-/

When the doorbell jingled later that day, she was the last person he expected to see.

"Hi," she said hesitantly, hands in the back pockets of her jeans. "My name is Emma - Emma Swan. I opened the place across the street." She removed a hand from her pockets to point out her shop, and Killian noticed the flower tattoo on her wrist. A few other inked lines peeked from the place where the long sleeve of her shirt had ridden up. She didn't seem to know how to continue, so Killian took a few steps towards her. He could tell the moment she noticed his prosthetic because her eyes widened for a moment, but she quickly schooled her features and focused back on his face.

"I'm Killian, Killian Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you." His hand darted out to shake hers. For a moment he contemplated the idea of bringing the back of her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss against her knuckles, but something told him it would make her run faster towards the door. She already seemed skittish without him doing anything. "Is there something I can do for you?" he asked politely as he let go of her hand.

That hand went back to the pocket of her jeans as she shuffled on her feet nervously.

"Really, lass." He smiled at her with the most encouraging smile he could muster. "Feel free to ask."

She sighed, biting her lower lip as she gave him an almost apologetic look. "I'm a tattoo artist - or at least I'm trying to be one." The last words were barely audible as she averted her gaze. But she seemed to pull herself together a moment later, because she looked at him straight in the eye. "I need to practice my drawings. Especially flowers. I mean, I'm fine with the rest of them, but I didn't have a lot of chances to practice drawing flowers while I was in jail-" Her eyes widened as she realized what she'd said, a horrified expression coming to her face.

Killian opened his mouth to try to reassure her but she lifted her hands in an attempt to have him hear her out. "That was almost a decade ago. It - it was juvie. It wasn't even my fault, someone set me up to take the blame for their crimes, and I swear I've been on the right side ever since-"

When Emma stopped to catch her breath, Killian took the opportunity to get a word in. "It's fine, lass," he said in the most reassuring voice he could muster.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "It is?"

"Aye." He nodded, taking a tentative step towards her. "I take it that you might like a chance to practice your flower drawing? In here, perhaps?" he ventured.

"I can't pay you," she started carefully, each word slow and purposeful as though she were waiting for him to demand to know what was in it for him and refuse her when he learned there was nothing. He wondered what hardships life must have given her that she never trusted in the kindness of strangers. Or fellow shop owners.

"That won't be needed." His hand panned through the shop. "I close at six, but I usually stay until eight to balance the books or prepare arrangements. You're welcome here anytime you want."

"Really?" The disbelief in her tone almost broke his heart. "Just like that?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no to a cup of coffee once in awhile." He shrugged, reaching to scratch behind his ear.

Her lips curved in a soft smile that dazzled him. "I can do that. I'll see you tomorrow?" she asked as she moved towards the door.

He nodded. "I'll be here."

She turned around at the very last moment, another soft smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Killian."

/-/

Emma was there a little after six the next day, carrying a sketchpad with a few pencils in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other one.

"I wasn't sure how you liked it." She placed the coffee on the counter where Killian was pouring over his books.

"Black, like my heart, is fine." He gave her a wink.

Emma rolled her eyes. "I find it hard to believe that a man that owns a flower shop has a black heart."

"You'd be surprised," he teased, running a hand through his hair. She gave him a quick quirk of her eyebrow and moved to peruse around the shop. She halted before a display of white and black tulips.

"These are gorgeous." She lifted her hand, and her fingers traced the petals of one of them before she realized what she was doing. "Sorry." Her cheeks were slightly tinted with red as she removed her hand. "Can I draw these?"

"Whatever you like. Grab a chair and make yourself at home." Killian took a sip of the coffee. "This is great and exactly what I need as I balance the books. Thank you." He tilted his head in gratitude.

Emma had pulled a chair and was already in the process of outlining the flowers. "It's the least I could do."

They didn't talk after that, each of them focused on their task at hand, the only noise inside the shop the scratch of Emma's pencil against paper. It should have felt awkward, considering they'd only met briefly the day before, but there was something eerily comfortable in having Emma in his shop, focused on her work. It seemed mutual, as once or twice she'd lift her head from her sketch to find him contemplating her and regaled him with a soft smile before bending over the drawing again.

It was little past eight when he closed the books and threw away the paper cup. Emma was standing as well, closing her sketchpad and putting the chair back where she found it.

"I won't take more of your time. Thank you." Her free hand fidgeted with the hem of her shirt before she looked at him with resolve. "Can I come back tomorrow?"

It was a to the point question, but he could read the silent hope hidden in her words and it tugged at his heart. "Of course. As many times as you want, lass."

Her smile was so beautiful that it lit the entire room. "I'll see you tomorrow then." She turned around and walk towards the door, but stopped just before reaching for the handle. She shifted her head to give him a look over her shoulder, her voice a little breathier than before. "Goodnight, Killian."

She'd already walked out when he composed himself enough to whisper his reply. "Goodnight, Emma."

/-/

It became a routine of sorts, Emma showing up a few minutes past six each day, and staying until almost eight. She would pick a new flower and drag the chair next to it to start drawing. Killian kept her company while he organized deliveries or made some arrangements for the next day. If she was marvelled by the way he'd managed with one hand and one prosthetic device that resembled a hook, she didn't comment on it. Once a week, she'd deposit a cup of coffee and a bear claw from the local diner as a thank-you gift. It might not seem much, but it meant a lot to Killian.

"How did you end up here?" Her voice broke him out of his concentration on the arrangement of orchids he was putting together. His eyes met her inquisitive stare for a moment, before going back to the arrangement, picking a thread and holding it with his hook as he tied the stems tightly.

"I was in the Royal Navy, and an operation went wrong. I found myself with an honorable discharge and no will to stay in a country full of ghosts and memories of years past. I wandered for a while before I found this shop for rent, and I don't know, something made me stay." It was the first time he'd spoken at such length of the reasons that made him leave his brothers back in London and come to the United States, searching for a way to ease the pain in his heart.

She nodded, as if the tale was familiar to her. "You?" he asked and it was her turn to play with her pencil.

"After I got out of jail, I went to a few tattoo places to learn the trade. I was an apprentice in a few of them, moving on when I felt I'd learned everything I could in one place, leaving with a stack of pre-designed tattoos that I chose to purchase from more trained artists." She traced a few more lines on her sketchpad, her eyes not meeting his. "I just kept moving from one place to another, not really having a destination. Until I saw an ad online about this place for rent and I thought maybe I could start my own shop. Stand on my own two feet. See how it feels."

"How you like it so far?" His voice was nothing but a whisper as he finished tying the thread on his orchids.

She shrugged, but there wasn't anything nonchalant about it; it was almost a reflex of the person she used to be and not the one she was becoming. "It's… good. I feel-" she trailed off, her eyes meeting his.

"You feel what?"

"Almost like I can really belong here. Like it can be my home."

Neither of them spoke after her heartfelt confession, the air in the shop charged almost to the point of suffocation. When she finally left, it was with a few flower books he brought for her, so she could practice outside the shop if she wanted to.

He knew he was probably shooting himself in the foot, that with detailed illustrations on her hands, she would have no need to come back.

Yet, she paused in the door frame, turning around with a soft smile, her eyes boring into his. "I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight, Killian."

"'Night, Emma."

/-/

She came back the next day, thanking him for the books and moving to choose the flower she'd sketch that day.

She kept coming, almost each day, and the days she couldn't make it, she would show up at his door to bid him goodnight. It had been a few months, and it seemed she'd been weaving her way into the town's life. She told him business had slowly started to pick up, and she was looking forward the tourist season to attract even more customers. She even had one or two customers from nearby towns that saw her work and came to get a tattoo.

"That is wonderful, Swan," he told her as he finished putting together an order for the shop for the upcoming week.

"Yeah, it is. Some of them are really interested in some of my original designs. It feels good." She stood up and crossed the room until she leaned on the counter where he was working. "I've been meaning to show you these," she said as she pulled out a stack of papers from her sketchpad.

There were drawings. All the different flowers she'd been sketching were there, in full color.

"What do you think?" There was a hint of hesitance in her voice and in the way her fingers traced a pattern on the counter.

He took one of them. "These are gorgeous, lass. Breathtaking." Underneath the stack of flower sketches, he found a few nautical drawings too. "These are wonderful too. They bring back memories," he said with a soft smile on his lips as he leaned in to study them more.

"That's a nice tattoo."

His breath caught in his throat at the sentence. He hadn't realized that the sleeve of his shirt had pulled up and his tattoo was visible. He lifted his eyes to meet her curious stare.

"Who's _Milah_? In the tattoo?"

"Someone from long ago." His words were nothing but a broken whisper, and she seemed to hear all the things he wasn't saying in the strain of his voice.

"You didn't just lose your hand back home, did you?"

"You're quite perceptive, aren't you?" He didn't mean the quip to sound so curt, but those memories were hard to bring back to the surface.

"I can recognize the heartbreak of someone who's been in love," she offered as her fingers moved to trace the lines of his tattoo, bringing goosebumps to his skin. "It's a fantastic piece. You got a good artist."

"Only what she deserved." He lifted his head and found something more than just pity in her eyes: there was understanding and sympathy. He used to hate getting those looks cast upon him - he still did - but somehow it didn't bother him when it came from her.

"Is this why you're here in Storybrooke? To get lost in a forsaken town and not deal with the aftermath?"

It was uncanny the way she could read him so easily, how she could pinpoint the exact reason why he decided to lose himself in a flower shop in the middle of nowhere.

And yet, he found that the description was no longer accurate.

"I'm here to move on," he whispered as his fingers brushed his tattoo, grazing her fingers as he did.

/-/

His heart was beating frantically against his chest when he pushed the door of her shop open a few days later. She was sitting on a stool on the other side of the counter. It wasn't the first time he'd been in her shop, but her drawings framed all over the walls still took his breath away.

She curved her lips into a smile. "Hey."

"Hello, Swan. I see you put some more drawings on the walls."

She walked around the counter to stand by his side. "Yeah, I did. Is there anything you need? I'm usually the one lurking in your shop."

He chuckled and then cleared his throat, mustering his courage. "I want a tattoo. I was thinking on my right shoulder-"

Emma's surprised tone cut him off. "A tattoo?" He nodded. "And you thought of me?" That last part had Killian giving her an inquisitive look.

"Look around you. You're a talented artist, Emma." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I only have one tattoo, and I got it to honor the memory of my lost love, to have her imprinted on my skin for as long as I'd live. I never thought of letting go, not really, but now-" he trailed off, not sure how to continue.

Her eyes bore into his. "But now what?"

"Now I feel I'm ready to put the past behind me and move on."

She studied his face for a long time before she replied. "Come back tomorrow around closing time, and I'll have something for you."

/-/

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, but he couldn't help the way his hand reached to scratch behind his ear the moment he entered her shop the next day. Emma walked to meet him and he gave her a sheepish smile.

"Nervous?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted.

She took his hand and tugged him towards the back. "I need you to pull up the right sleeve of your shirt and sit." She pointed to the reclinable chair where everything was ready and Killian did as he told him. He tilted his head and met her green eyes, suddenly not able to utter a single word.

She placed her hand on his forearm. "Do you trust me?"

"Aye, Swan, I do," he replied without hesitation.

"Then close your eyes, Killian."

He did her bidding, feeling the cold as she placed the stencil on his shoulder and arm. Soon he felt the first pinprick of the needle piercing his skin, and he welcomed the familiar pain as he kept his eyes closed and focused on hearing Emma's breathing.

A couple of hours later, Emma finally put her tattoo needle aside and applied ointment to his arm. It was a simple movement, nothing out of the ordinary about it, and yet Killian could feel his entire body reacting to the way her fingers dabbed his sore skin.

"Can I open my eyes now?" His voice came out a lot more breathless than he'd expected.

Her fingers grazed his skin one last time. "Not yet." Her voice sounded a lot more closer than before, and he could feel her breath caressing his ear, making him shiver.

She traced her fingers down his arm and interlaced their fingers. "Stand up slowly." She helped him up and made him take a few steps blindly, directing him to what he believed was the mirror. Emma positioned him in way that his bicep and shoulder would face the mirror.

He could feel her right beside him, her lips almost kissing the shell of his ear when she whispered, "Now, turn to your right and open your eyes."

He slowly opened his eyes, taking some time to adjust to the lighting. When he was able to focus on the image on the mirror, it took his breath away.

His shoulder and arm were now covered by an intricate and beautiful black design. There was a compass on his bicep, the northern arrow pointing to his shoulder with a few intricated lines. The same lines followed the southern arrow in a spiral, where a set of coordinates were drawn on each side. At the end of the line, there was an anchor. Emma had position the tattoo in a way that the anchor pointed to the tattoo he already had on his forearm. The meaning behind it made tears come into his eyes.

"The coordinates are the ones for your shop." Her voice was soft as she spoke, and he turned to face her for the first time since she'd finished the tattoo. "I figured it would be a way to remind you there's always a home waiting for you." There was something simmering in her eyes, something that he was finding impossible to resist.

"Do you like it?"

"Swan, this is beautiful." He swayed into her space, and she leaned closer. Her hand traced his left arm all the way up to his neck and caressed the hair at the nape of it. The temptation to close his eyes and relish in that feeling was strong, but he kept his stare focused on her as she tugged his head down and his lips found hers in a soft kiss. Her lips moved in rhythm with his, and he nipped at her lower lip, his tongue tracing it until she opened for him. His left arm rested at her hip and he pulled her closer to him with his prosthetic.

When they finally broke the kiss, breathless and panting, he rested his forehead against hers, his lips curving into a soft smile.

"This feel like the beginning of something, doesn't it?"

"It does."

(A year later, it took a look of cajoling and all his charm to get her to tattoo a black swan positioned above the northern arrow, but she finally agreed to it. He asked her to marry him the moment she finished.)


End file.
